This Is To Have Succeeded
by ungoodthinkful
Summary: Evergrowing collection of oneshots, in no particular order, dealing with Loren, a workingclass Freeport citizen who becomes a knight of Marr. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

He'd only been defending himself, and it angered him beyond words that his peers would _lie_, just to get him in trouble.

"You consistently violate expectations," Sir Dushire was lecturing, "and cannot seem to keep up for two days in a row with the etiquette expected of a knight-in-training." One of the others had attacked him, knowing he would fight back, then ran to the teachers to show off his bruises. The boy had several "witnesses" who backed him up, as well, so there was nothing Loren could do. "Talent alone does not make a knight, Loren," Dushire continued, shaking his head. "I have to demand you apologize, both to me and to Rheuben, and serve a month of kitchen duty."

"I could only apologize for defending myself, sir," he answered, looking Sir Dushire in the eye, though a pained expression was fixed on his face, "and I was taught that defense alone did not call for an apology." He winced.

Dushire rose to his feet, and turned his back upon Loren. Loren felt rooted to the floor; the gesture meant he was in far deeper trouble that he had imagined. "Lying about your involvement is another matter entirely," Dushire said quietly. "If you will not acknowledge your wrong, I will be forced to ask you to leave the Hall. I did not want it to come to this, but I cannot see how you can claim to serve the god of truth, yet be willing to lie over triviality."

Loren felt tears start behind his eyes, and he looked at the ground. "I couldn't live with myself if I gave you a false apology," he said, bowing his head. He left to get his things.

He ran into Rheuben on his way out. "Where are you going?" the boy demanded, taking in Loren's bags.

"Home. Dushire expelled me because I wouldn't lie and say I hit you first." He pushed angrily past Rheuben, who seemed dumbstruck.

"You would do that?" asked Rheuben of Loren's retreating back. "Wait!" he called, clutching Loren's arm.

"What?" Loren demanded, trying not to cry in front of the other boy.

"I'll tell him," said Rheuben, looking at the ground. "Even you don't deserve this. We just wanted you to have kitchen duty or something, that's all. I'm sorry."

Loren paused, pursing his lips. "Yeah," he said at last, not quite ready to forgive. "Thank you," he added. They left immediately for Dushire's office.


	2. Chapter 2

Loren was not a very good knight-in-training. He always meant well, but he lacked the knightly manners that came naturally to his wealthier peers, as he was his class's only charity case. He hoped Lord Marr would not mind. While he knew his god would not care about the contents of his purse, he wondered how he could fill the shoes of the other great knights of the Hall.

Today he would find out, because today his class was to be sworn in. It was the climax of three years of training. And so he knelt, alone, in the altar room, not praying. He worried; he did not think he deserved this. He had been told everyone felt this way, but when he thought of his poor mother and his struggling family, he felt alone.

He thought of his parents' sacrifices in getting him to where he was, and of the donations that had supported him throughout his years in the temple, and he felt gratitude slowly roll over him. He did not know, if so many believed in him, trusted him, loved him, how he could let them down by failing now. He did not know how he could let himself down. He began to pray, even though no words left his uncivilized tongue.

Above his bowed head, the light descended, a strong blue fire, and Loren soon knew that he could, in fact, be worthy of the title "knight."


	3. Chapter 3

The hardest part about being a knight was, naturally, the part training didn't prepare you for.

He knew she knew where her allies, his enemies, were camped. He knew she would never reveal thier position voluntarily. If he managed to extract their location from her through--he couldn't bear to think the word--other ways than simply asking, then hundreds of his men might be spared their lives. The price, of course being his integrity and the slaughter of enemies that would ensue from his men's surprise attack.

She stared at him from her position tied to his tent pole, her eyes calling him a hypocrite, though her mouth was gagged. You claim to serve the god of truth, they asked, who values honor above all, yet you are considering stooping to my level?

Not, of course, that she would say _that_.

He stalked out of his tent and away from the encampment, leaving two guards within and two without, towards where he did his morning prayers. He flung himself to the ground, curling on his knees. It was not his decision to make, but his god's, he realized, though his men would do whatever he asked.

"Give me a sign, my Lord," he prayed, and he remained there until he felt a peace about the situation come over him. He then stood, and made his way back to the tent.

When he opened the tent flap, he found four of his personal guards standing there, clearly befuddled, around an empty pile of ropes. Loren smiled wryly.

"I prayed for a sign," he said, bemused. The gods worked in mysterious ways indeed.

"Hell of a sign, sir," answered his captain, rubbing his chin.


	4. Chapter 4

Rheuben lay dead, just beyond Loren's reach from where he was tied. Rheuben, his comrade, his closest and sometimes only friend.

Once the sun set, he would be beyond the reach of Loren's magicks forever. It would be like losing part of himself; the men were like brothers, and the best family Loren had left.

"Nearing sunset, isn't it?" asked one of their Tier'dal captors. The dark elf's face was twisted into an infuriating smirk. "If you want him to live, _paladin_," he said, spitting out the final word with the highest scorn, "you will beg me to listen to the direction in which the rest of your hunting party lies."

Loren had watched helplessly as the Tier'dal had tortured his friend until he begged for death, and then they had given it to him. Now, though, the reality of the loss of his friend was truly hitting him.

"Please," he muttered, at last, and the necromancer laughed. The magical bonds disappeared and Loren lunged towards his Rheuben, but the dark elf kicked him back to the ground.

"Beg me," he mocked, and Loren could hear the laughter of his friends in the background.

Loren pulled himself to his knees, anger scorching through his body, flushing him red. "Please," he said again, through gritted teeth, "my friends are due south." Each word in his ears felt like a physical blow. "Please, let me save him." His life is worth more than my pride, he reminded himself.

"Good boy," sneered the elf, and his group departed. "They never lie," he explained to his friends. Loren placed his hands over his friend, praying the prayer of resurrection.

When Rheuben was sensible, several hours later, and after Loren had explained what had happened, Rheuben groaned aloud.

"You should have let them kill us," he said, disappointment furrowing his brow.

"You forget, friend," said Loren. "The rest were to circle towards the north if we hadn't returned by sunset, by way of the east. We just needed to buy time."


	5. Chapter 5

He spent many hours of his early life, before, thinking of how beautiful, how elegant and powerful, the Temple of Marr looked from a distance. The building and front courtyard were made of a white stone cut so sharply he thought the corners might tear the skin of anyone unfortunate enough to have a close encounter with them. The Temple was so different, so completely outside of his own experiences with the rest of the dingy city of Freeport. He had wanted to be a part of it like he wanted to be able to breathe the next morning; sometimes, the desire to be there was so strong his stomach twisted and he physically hurt, just for want.

Seeing the knights who strode so proudly from the northern Temple only amplified his pain. They were so much _better_ than the dirty, smelly Militia who controlled the southeastern side of the city. He had never seen one steal, or strike a citizen in anger. Though they did curse—at doors, horses, curbs, and each other, and quite colorfully so, but never at civilians. Naturally, he wanted to be one of them, and would march around their tenement with his back straight, kicking doorframes and cursing at them, or swinging a broom like a sword, but both activities were highly discouraged by his mother. He knew she couldn't afford to have him trained at the temple, but couldn't he pretend?

But this was all before he heard of the vacancy among the ranks of the acolytes, for a charity case. And so now he stood with two other boys and one girl, awaiting whatever tests the temple intended them to take to prove themselves. Even though he had waited his whole life for this, just waiting in that group of children made his stomach curl up and pain him, just out of desire.


	6. Chapter 6

"This is dumb," Rheuben complained, as they tramped across the plain. "I wish you would tell me what we're supposed to be waiting for."

"You'll know when you see it," Loren assured him, grinning as he scanned the horizon, "and I'm sure you'll be satisfied once we do." Loren, at least, would be very happy.

After a few more minutes of plodding along, they both felt it at once. The slightest ripple in the air, only just unnatural, blew back Rheuben's long hair and ruffled Loren's short. They exchanged glances, Rheuben raising an eyebrow and Loren winking.

Then, something exploded, just beyond the pitiful clump of trees directly ahead. "Meet Kiera," Loren said, and they took off running in the direction of the commotion.

Kiera was a tall, thin stick of a woman, with hair the color of tree bark extending to her waist. It blew around her like a tornado, occasionally revealing pointy features that betrayed her as at least part Fier'dal, as the earth role up to swallow the feet of the last moving bandit. One of the huts still burned, undoubtedly the site of the initial explosion. Children with bound hands crept out of the other hut, looking frightened, and the part-elf ran to comfort them.

"Kiera," Loren said again. "Druidess of Karana. She likes fire, storms, and not leaving any bandits for us." He winked again at Rheuben.

"She looks like a hell of a catch," grinned Rheuben, shoving him playfully in the woman's direction.


	7. Chapter 7

Loren and Kiera found him in the east sector of Freeport, down one of the dark alleys Loren's mother had warned him about when he was young. He was dirty, and seemed smaller than he had ever been, and he smelled like burnt hair and old milk. Kiera saw him first and rushed to kneel at his side, but he turned away from her. "Rheuben," she said, but he pushed her away, leaving a swath of grime across her upper arm. He raked fingers through his hair, and grunted something dismissive.

Loren, hearing the exchange, turned the corner to meet his old friend. "Rheuben," he echoed, but his voice was not of comfort, but chastisement. "What the hell are you doing here?" When he did not answer, Loren stepped forward, looming over him. "Stand up," he barked, "and tell me why you deserted. You'd better have a damn good reason." He glared down at the other man, hoping his approach might work better than Kiera's.

"Gods damn it, Loren," said Rheuben, keeping his back to his friends, and Loren realized that trying to address the soldier in Rheuben was a futile effort. That part of him was gone, at least for now. "I deserted because I was afraid! Don't try to bring me back. Even Lord Marr had abandoned me," he said, turning to Loren, and holding out his hands, though he did not meet Loren's eyes. "He withdrew his gift. I'm forsworn, Loren; I've fallen. He's abandoned me," he repeated, dropping his hands.

Kiera pulled back from him, realizing that the knight and former knight were debating a matter in which she had no experience.

Loren took her place at Rheuben's side. "The question becomes, then, have you abandoned him?" He fought to find Rheuben's gaze, and then held it. Lord Marr could be a forgiving god, when contrition was _true_.

"I don't want to, but there's no hope," Rheuben said, dropping his eyes.

"If you will not abandon him, then there is always hope for salvation," said Loren, but Rheuben merely shook his head and stared at the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

Loren thought about asking her when they sat off to the side of the campfire, the night before the battle. It was too tense of a moment, though. He didn't want her distracted come the next morning.

Kiera thought he was going to ask her that morning, in case they didn't make it through the battle. Perhaps he thought it was too important of a moment, though. She didn't want their personal lives to interfere with their professional.

He thought about asking her when Reuben staggered drunkenly off to his tent that night. It was too comical of a moment, though. He didn't want her to accidentally take his serious question as a joke.

She thought he was going to ask her when she crept into his tent later that night. Perhaps he thought it was too passionate of a moment, though. She didn't want to spend her life wondering if he'd only asked because they were about to make love.

He decided he was going to ask her when he opened his eyes the next morning, and found her resting in the crook of his arm, playing with his hair. It was too perfect of a moment to pass up. He wanted her to know that he loved her, and wanted to keep loving her, always.


	9. Chapter 9

Rheuben detested him on sight. The man laced his long fingers together on the desk between them, and Rheuben thought he still managed the ashy complexion of academics, even though his skin was tinted light brown, like the far western men.

"Professor Eurice," began Loren in greeting, but behind him Rheuben could not help but lift his chin in revulsion. He did not know how Loren endured the sneers they universally encountered in places like this, and still greeted the sneers' owners with a polite smile and an honorific. "We're told that you're a mapping expert, as well as a linguist."

The intellectual nodded, barely a dip of the chin, and waited. Loren opened his mouth, paused for a second as if holding back, and then responded. "We got a map that we think's in one of the Elder elven languages. We were-"

The man cut him off, leaning forward slowly as he spoke. "Haven't you lot always 'got' a map or some such for us to translate for you?" Rheuben winced, recognizing his friend's Freeport brogue, affected in the unaccented acedemic's speech. He could feel himself getting angrier, and he knew Kiera could see where his fists were clenched behind his back. "Well, let's have it," he said, lifting his eyebrows in mock excitement.

Loren said nothing, but Rheuben could see that his jaw was set as he handed over the map. Rheuben's own jaw felt as though it were bordering on cracking. Eurice let him hold the parchment outstretched for a few minutes before, slowly, lazily, reaching for it. Just before he touched it, he frowned and withdrew his hand. Loren's gaze flickered to Rheuben, who returned it with a narrow-eyed glare. Loren shifted from one leg to another uncomfortably.

The man opened a drawer and withdrew gloves. Rheuben took a deep breath and began mentally reciting catechisms. At last, Eurice took the parchment in gloved hands and flattened it on the desk. "This is rather crude," he remarked, slowly smoothing it across his desk, and wincing as he brushed dirt off to the floor. "Surely your female companion managed to pick up _some_ of her ancestors' tongue when she wasn't cavorting about the woods."

Rheuben barely heard Loren draw in a sharp breath and Kiera gasp. He flew at the professor, incensed beyond coherency, and slammed his hands onto the desk, disturbing quite a few pens and some less recognizable instruments. "You have no right—" he sputtered. His voice rumbled over the soft-spoken man's protests. "You have no rank over me whatsoever. I probably even come from a richer family." He spun on his heel, facing a shocked Loren and Kiera. "We do _not_ have to listen to this," he delivered, glaring at them, too, for good measure.

"First, I care not a wit about your family's money," began Eurice, who had no moved since the exchange began. "We who work at the Order of Three care only for ability. Second, ah... you do, in fact, have to listen to me," the professer interjected rapidly while Rheuben took a breath. It was perhaps the fastest thing the academic had done in the entire meeting.

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked the infuriated paladin, spinning around again.

"The runes indicate that the parchment is... enchanted. I would call it cursed. Until all who look at it do as it says, I'm afraid we won't be getting very far away from each other at all." At Rheuben's dumbfounded look, Eurice sighed. "I assure you that as unhappy about this arrangement as you are, I am even more upset. I have no desire to go gallivanting about for the gods-know-what in…" he paused, considering. "Why didn't you tell me where you found the map?"

"I tried," said Loren slowly, eyeing Rheuban, who had thrown his hands in the air and was now pacing silently across the room. "You cut me off with a comment about all the maps we've brought you to translate for us—all one of them."

At last, both Eurice and Rheuben were silent. Kiera sighed and wished she were outside.


	10. Chapter 10

He had tied her up despite her unconsciousness, for lack of anything else to do to delay the final action. Loren was in the process of bleeding to death behind him, and Eurice was unconscious in the corner. He lifted the sword above the woman before him, trying not to think.

"There's a better way," he heard Loren gasp, and he spun, drawing the sword closer to himself as he did so.

"Hurry up and die," he managed to spit out, but he did not turn back to Kiera's prone form.

"You can still get out of this," Loren continued, gasping, clutching at his stomach. "Marr forgives."

"Not me!" hissed Rheuben, careful not to raise his voice too much. He didn't want his comrades—or Loren's comrades—interfering, forcing his hand. "You know what's on the other end of this sword for me, if I disobey."

"It doesn't have to be-" began the other, but a new wave of pain cut him off.

"The other side of any sword, Loren. And you're still asking me to do the right thing?" Rheuben ground his teeth together, and turned back to Kiera. "I can't. I won't spend eternity... _there_… and not be in His favor."

"Spend it elsewhere," gasped Loren. Darkness was gnawing at the edge of his vision, and he could feel himself going.

"I won't go crawling back to Marr," spat Rheuben in disgust, looking away.

"I'm dying," interrupted Loren. The words sounded farther and farther away. He felt the pain ebb away drastically, and he knew it was close. "We were _friends_, Rheuben. I loved you." Marr, it was close. His ears rang.

For a moment, neither moved. Then, Rheuben's sword began to twitch. He was shaking; it traveled from his hands through his arms to the rest of his body, and he was quivering all over. "You should hate me," he roared at last, throwing the sword across the room, away from his old friends. "You should hate me by now!" he echoed, no-longer caring if anyone showed up. "I'm a fallen paladin," he said bitterly, "an abomination." He collapsed, falling to his knees, and then curling into the fetal position. Loren thought Rheuben might be weeping, but things were beginning to fade.

"Save us," he thought he heard himself say, before the ringing in his ears overcame him, and his vision tunneled to nothing. _All four of us._


	11. Chapter 11

The masters said one shouldn't fight to resolve disputes with one's comrades, unless all other possibilities had been explored. Loren thought that clause was bull, and he expected Rheuben had known that when the other boy began their practical joke war. Frogs in the bed were one thing, and Rheuben had even admitted to being impressed with Loren's last prank—reassembling Rheuben's bed in the middle of the practice yard when Rheuben sneaked out one night—but when Loren found his grandfather's watch missing, that was too much.

His anger was still building when he challenged Rheuben after breakfast, once their masters had left for the hour allotted for morning reflection. Rheuben accepted vehemently, allowing the watch to peek out of his pocket just barely while his friends laughed.

"Good thing we don't need seconds," taunted the other boy while Loren selected one of the dull practice swords. They were still laughing while Loren struggled to finish tying up the leathers they used in practice; it was near impossible to tie on the back piece alone. At last, one of the other boys sighed heavily, and crossed the room to jerk Loren's leathers in place without asking permission, muttering all the while about how long this was taking, that the masters would hear and be upset.

At last, they were ready.

Three sets," declared Rheuben, and Loren had no grounds to argue, though he would have preferred one. Rheuben had more endurance and all present knew it.

The first set was no real contest. Over the year since Loren had been at the Hall, he had gradually overcome the older boy at swordsmanship—smaller and lighter than the other, he did not last long while swinging around a heavy sword, but while he did he was one of the better.

"Point," he said at last. His knee was crushing Rheuben's elbow on his sword arm, and Loren's blunted sword pressed benignly against the other's neck.

"Conceded," admitted Rheuben, no insults this time. They stood.

Loren's parry came too slow next time, and Rheuben sword slammed into his stomach with all of the force his large arms could muster. Loren folded around the middle, and soon enough he expelled his breakfast on the practice room floor.

"Conceded," he spat at Rheuben's sword, pointed at his chest, and climbed to his feet. His grip was shakier now, and he knew he wasn't going to win.

At last, in desperation at the other's superior strength, he tried a complicated form of riposte they had only just learned, but he lacked the strength to complete the maneuver, and Rheuben forced Loren's blade against his own chest. He attempted to turn the flat against himself, but failed, and he felt his skin break underneath the leathers. It still knocked the wind out of him and threw him to the ground, as well. He had known he couldn't beat Rheuben. But the gnomish watch…

"Match," declared Rheuben, his jaw set into a smirk of triumph, and his friends nodded approval.

After a moment in which Loren caught his breath, he admitted defeat. "I still want my watch," he gasped afterward, and Rheuben turned back to him, away from his friends.

"I think I deserve it now, no?" laughed the boy, indicating Loren with his sword, but still he lingered.

"It belongs in my family. I'll challenge you every day if I need to," he said, though the effect was somewhat diminished by his gasps for breath.

"Please explain how a bastard has a family heirloom?" questioned Rheuben sweetly, and a few other boys snickered.

"My mother's father, you idiot," said Loren, finally winning his struggle to stand. He leaned against the wall so he would not take another embarrassing fall.

Rheuben scowled, and stared at him for long minute. Loren met his gaze. "Have your stupid watch, then, whoreson," he said at last, twisting his face into a scowl. He threw it at Loren, who caught it, thanking the gods that his reflexes weren't entirely gone. With that parting shot, he and his friends left.


	12. Chapter 12

Eurice preferred the dark. He had an academic's bad eyesight from reading by candlelight late into the evenings, and an academic's ashen skin from spending most of his life indoors, and an academic's soft hands from never having completed an honest day's hard work. He preferred himself that way, too.

And so when he and his... comrades... emerged from the inn where they had spent the night into the morning glare of Freeport's southern desert, his first instinct was to throw his arm over his eyes and pull his hood down as far as it would go.

"Not used to it being so bright?" asked the short-haired one, grinning at him and squinting. Almost polite, though the plebian accent rather killed any good intentions he might have had. Eurice considered retorting, but any ideas he might have had in that direction were immediately thwarted by the longer-haired man...well, exploding.

"AUUURGG!" he cried, staggering back, and fell backwards, throwing both arms over his eyes. The female raised an eyebrow, and the shorter-haired one merely rolled his eyes. Eurice sighed. "It _burns!_ My poor, unused eyes! I've never been outside before!" The man rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his fingers into his eyes. "What _is_ that strange yellow glowing thing that burns me so? How do I--"

"Please, Rheuben," sighed the shorter-haired one, "you could try, you know, to act your age. Just once, for kicks."

"But it _burns_!" moaned the other, writhing on the ground. It was going to be a long journey, though Eurice.


	13. Chapter 13

He felt sometimes like the name Rheuben was an alias and he was not truly who he said he was. H felt like he was missing something fundamental that all the others seemed to have. In his more arrogant moments, he decided he had something extra, that all the others did _not_ have, but it amounted to the same thing.

He felt a brush with it, that something extra or that void (as the case may be), during the match with the charity case. Loren. No surname; the boy was a bastard and made no secret of it, or of anything else for that matter.

When he'd crushed that elegant riposte back into the upstart's stomach, he'd felt two contrary things, and that was very much troubling him.

Primarily he'd felt wonderful, as though he were meant for nothing less than standing over a helpless opponent, reveling in victory. He'd felt superior, and he told himself that he felt it because it was true. The boy had nothing, no money or birthrights or _anything_.

But he had also felt as though he had violated something he should have left be. There had been nothing wrong with the riposte; the form was beautiful. But he was the stronger, wasn't he? The part of him that wasn't supposed to exist, the part that lived under Good Rheuben, Strong Rheuben, Merciful Knight of Truth Rheuben, gloried in the defeat of a weaker opponent.

He didn't know if he was ashamed or proud.


	14. Chapter 14

Rheuben was missing.

Loren couldn't make himself believe it. Kiera had tried to help support him when they staggered around the newly-won city, peering at every human-shaped face. The froglocks were always polite, especially the ones at the hastily-constructed morgue, but firm—they would have to be going, and soon, if they couldn't identify a body as friend, family, or mate. Kiera understood; they had a city to rebuild. Loren shook his head helplessly and wandered on.

Eventually, when it became apparent that they weren't going to find him in Gukta, Kiera guided his steps north, towards the desert and Freeport. "Perhaps he went home ahead of us," Kiera suggested, but Loren looked away.

"I didn't want it to be like this. Rheuben should be here, being happy for us."

"He would be." Loren glared daggers at her for the insinuation, and she fell silent.

After they made camp one night, huddling together against the strong night wind, their tent the only protection from the whips of dust and sand, Loren spoke. "I think he deserted, Kiera," he said, tightening his grip around her waist.

"What makes you say that?" she said, squirming in his arms so she could look at his face. She hadn't given that idea the first consideration, until now.

"He's never killed _people_ before," he said. He wouldn't look at her. "He stays in the city mostly, does smithy work for the Temple. It's not that he isn't an experienced fighter, but that's against... you know. Undead. It's not the same as fighting things with brains." Loren paused. Kiera didn't know what to say. Suddenly, the knight met her eyes, narrowing his eyes fiercely. "He's not a coward!" he said, as if Kiera had called him one.

"I never said he was," she answered, extracting an arm from his embrace to stroke his hair. "If you're right, he's not afraid of death. He's af- he doesn't want to take a life," she amended.

He nodded. "He'll be in Freeport," he said, pursing his lips. "The temple's there."

Kiera decided not to question.


	15. Chapter 15

She was a curious little thing; a pretty little head surrounded by finery. Thin, aristocratic fingers plucked at the pastry in front of her, as she considered their offer. A pink tongue darted over light blue lips—it gave her the look of one who was perpetually starved for air.

"Remind me again, Loren, why we're asking Miss Princess to go out into the desert and dig around in ruins with us?" questioned Rheuben. Loren opened his mouth to answer, but the little knave in front of them cut him off.

"Uh, uh, uh!" she said, smiling sweetly. "I'll tell him, and then after I let him know he can decide to stay if he wants to." She flashed Loren another sick-sweet smile. "Rheuben," she began, setting down her treat and looking him in the eye. She folded her hands in front of her, resting the elbows on the desk and her chin on her hands. "My family has a very long and very proud history in various and sundry mercenary and attorney pursuits. I suppose that doesn't bother and trouble you much, since you're here, and I want to assure you that I dislike those haughty Neriakians blue-bloods as much as you do. In addition, I want you to know my lineage and history because it's important for you to realize, dear, that I am not some upstart rogue or thief, hiding in Qeynos from those scary, full-blooded dark elves who want to 'purify' me, and by that I mean kill my whole family. We have lived here for six generations, a very long time with our lifespans. This office is only small because I am so young—only fifty!—and my family wants me to earn what I will inherit, which is considerable." Her smile deepened, and she dipped her chin to look up through her lashes at him.

"Surely you have no complaint about my mixed blood or heritage. My family is not so bigoted as to exclude the purple and long-lived from our arranged marriages." She knows just where to hit him, though Loren. Her family has probably been around longer than his. "Unless, of course, you think I am _personally_ not adequate to the task, but surely my list of references and former employers has convinced you otherwise." She blinked twice, still smiling, and then lowered her left hand to her lap, and her right again to pick at the pastry.

Rheuben was as speechless as Loren had ever seen him. Perhaps his temporary fall from grace had taught him something, however, because he at last shook his head, and doffed the close-knit cap he had taken to wearing. Sweeping it to the side and bowing, he smiled and offered, "In that case, milady, we would be honored to ask you to join us, and take at least equal share of whatever we find along the way."

She smiled, and winked at Loren. Turning back to Rheuben, she dipped her head once, perhaps half an inch. "Very well and good. I have other terms we might talk about in a meeting later, of course." She resumed nibbling on the pastry.

"That was perhaps the most humorous thing I have ever witnessed," whispered Kiera in awe, as they were shown out the door.


End file.
